


One Way To Get A Date

by wordyanansi



Series: Tumblr Prompts [7]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-15
Updated: 2015-09-15
Packaged: 2018-04-20 22:03:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4803857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordyanansi/pseuds/wordyanansi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke's exhausted (working too hard) and new in town, when she gets a call from her cousin, Miller, after he's been in a bar fight. </p><p>She's pretty sure she'd rather go to bed, but she can't turn away the walking wounded.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Way To Get A Date

**Author's Note:**

  * For [apanoplyofsong](https://archiveofourown.org/users/apanoplyofsong/gifts).



> This kept wanting to be really long and be in an AU I'm vaguely working on that will probably turn into a 40 000 word epic and I am trying to avoid that because I'm a bit out of the writing brain at the moment and wanting to do more short prompt fills etc. 
> 
> But here is a thing. I hope you enjoy it.

Clarke’s phone rings as she enters her depressing beige hotel room, and she drops all her belongings on the floor trying to find her phone before it calls out. She spares a grimace for the horrific painting bolted to the wall instead of the caller display before she answers.

“Clarke Griffin,” she says, distractedly kicking of her shoes. She prays it’s not the free clinic because she really doesn’t have another shift in her right now.

“Your phone manner is worse than ever then,” a male voice says, and it takes her a moment to place it as belonging to Nate. Miller, she corrects in her head.

“What’s up?” she asks, sitting on the bed.

“Where are you right now?” he asks, and she closes her eyes, foreseeing a future wherein she does not get to have a shower and go straight to bed.

“I’m at the Shipperton Apartments. Again I ask, what’s up?” Clarke sighs.

“I might have got in a bar fight. And Bellamy is being a dick about me not wanting to go to get checked out. You’re our compromise,” Miller says. Clarke laughs almost bitterly.

“Well that just makes me feel like prettiest belle at the ball. I’m in number 27 on the ground floor,” Clarke says. “Are you bleeding profusely or are we talking standard first aid here?”

“He was unconscious!” she hears Bellamy yell, and she presses her lips together in an attempt not to smile. She likes Bellamy, there’s something that pulls at her in him, but every time they share the same air they can’t help getting in a fight.

“I’ll be there in five,” Miller says. “Best cousin ever.”

“Whatever. I’ll be waiting,” Clarke replies and then disconnects.

 

Clarke has time to wash her face and hands, turn her up-do into a messy bun, and throw on sweatpants before Miller knocks on the door. She takes a bit to register it’s not just Miller, but that Bellamy has tagged along as well. She wishes she hadn’t had time to change into the sweatpants for a moment, and then steps aside to let them in.

“So, I’m going to assume this was over some valiant cause. Defense of the defenseless, standing up for the underdog, and not over a sporting conflict,” Clarke says dryly, as she takes Miller’s shoulders and sits him on the bed, checking his pupils.

“It was noble,” Bellamy says behind her. “And stupid.” Miller glares at him.

“Shut up, Blake,” Miller says. “I’m fine. He’s being overprotective. He’s gone all big brother.” Clarke uses her penlight to check dilation response.

“How long was he out for?” she asks, ignoring Miller’s comments and yanking his beanie off to check for contusions, lumps, or cuts.

“Like two minutes maybe?” Bellamy offers. “Idiot got punched into the wall and hit his head.” Clarke pressed her lips together.

“If you could possibly give me a little sympathy given the number of bar fights I have joined on your behalf over the years, that would be awesome,” Miller says dryly.

“Any blurred version? Slurring of speech? Memory loss? When’s your mother’s birthday?” Clarke asks.

“No, no, no, and April 13th,” Miller tells her.

“Thank god, I thought I’d missed it,” Clarke says, and Miller snorts.

“You’ve always been the worst at birthdays,” Miller replies.

“Gonna go with you’re fine. No other bruises or anything you want me to take a look at?” Clarke offers. Miller shakes his head.

“Na, I’m good. Thanks Clarke,” Miller tells her standing up. Clarke turns to Bellamy, and that’s when she notices the dark patch on his t-shirt. Her eyes widen in alarm.

“You’re bleeding? Why the hell are you bleeding? Why the hell didn’t you say you were bleeding? Take your shirt off immediately and let me look at it,” Clarke insists. Bellamy shifts awkwardly, and cuts his gaze to Miller standing over her shoulder.

“Hey, you’re the one who dragged us here hypocrite,” Miller tells him. “She’s a doctor. She’s seen shirtless dudes plenty. Probably even been to a beach once or twice.” Clarke rolls her eyes, but then she meets Bellamy’s gaze. And it’s not shyness she’s seeing, it’s something else.

“Seriously, take your shirt off. I promise to swoon appropriately at your abs,” she teases him. He scowls and sheds his shirt with a wince. Clarke has to work pretty hard not to swoon at the sight of his naked chest. She’s always had a thing about shoulders with guys and his are no exception. It’s sculpted all the way down. But she’s easily distracted by the gash.

“That’s not from a broken bottle,” Clarke comments, stepping closer, reaching her fingers out towards the wound.

“Knife,” Bellamy admits. “Shallow. Just caught the edge.” Clarke shines the torch on it and bends lower to see it.

“Clean. Doesn’t need stitches. Just a bandage. Sit on the bed,” she instructs in her doctor voice. She works in silence for a few minutes, cleaning the wound (he doesn’t even hiss) and applying antibacterial cream.

“It’s not really the way I’d hoped you’d see me with my shirt off for the first time,” Bellamy comments, and he sounds like he’s making idle conversation, but her hands are on his skin, and he’s tense.

“That is the worst pick up line I’ve heard you use,” Miller says. “And on my cousin. While I’m in the room. Can you not?” Clarke focuses on the bandaging.

“Hey, I got a knife in the abs because instead of using your words like a normal person, you used your fists on a piece of homophobic trash who called your boyfriend a twink,” Bellamy replies, but there’s no heat. Clarke raised her eyebrows.

“Didn’t know you had a boyfriend Nate! Is he cute?” Clarke asks, glancing up at him with a smile. She watched his cheeks flush.

“He’s not my boyfriend. Don’t be weird,” Miller mutters.

“Totally wants him to be his boyfriend,” Bellamy says to Clarke. “Totally unable to actually ask him out.” Clarke laughs.

“Is it his first? Because I remember asking out my first girl and I think it was the most terrifying experience of my life,” Clarke says, focussing on the bandaging again.

“Not going to get dating advice from my cousin, thank you kindly,” Miller says. “Not tonight. Not ever.” Clarke laughs at him, but Bellamy is looking at her as if he’s trying to figure her out. She could put him out of his misery, but she won’t. Not tonight at least.

 

She finishes the bandage and steps back.

“So bed rest, aspirin, Bellamy, check your bandage, and Miller watch for signs of concussion,” she instructs. “Doctor’s orders.” Miller knocks her shoulder with his, the way he says ‘I love you’, and she responds in kind. “And now please leave. I just got off a thirteen hour shift and I’ve got to go back in eight hours.” Miller rolls his eyes and heads for the door, but Bellamy lingers.

“Pretty sure taking a knife wound for your cousin should get me a date,” he offers. Clarke snorts.

“Yeah, but I don’t think he feels that way about you,” she teases, and Miller laughs. Bellamy grins at her.

“I was heroic,” Bellamy points out. Clarke folds her arms.

“I tended your wounds free of charge,” Clarke says. “Besides, wouldn’t you rather go out with someone because they want to be there, not because of some perceived obligation?”

“It could be both,” Bellamy says, and Miller laughs, and Clarke grins.

“Yeah, it could be,” she agrees.

“He did take a knife for me,” Miller says. “You could give him a break.” Bellamy doesn’t take his eyes off her.

“I’ve got cousin approval,” Bellamy adds. “Look at that, I look like this and I even come with recommendations. Want to go out with me sometime?” Clarke screws up her mouth trying not to smile. She wants to drag this bit out longer, she likes the flirting banter, the tension and teasing. But she would like to bite his abs and he was loyal and smart and funny.

“Sure,” she says. “Now get out, I need to sleep.”

 

 


End file.
